


Brown-eyed Blues (4/5)

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-03
Updated: 2002-02-03
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: An odd and quirky romance that starts with a car accident and ends with a home invasion.





	Brown-eyed Blues (4/5)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Brown-eyed Blues (4/5)

## Brown-eyed Blues (4/5)

#### by Ganymede

Title: Brown-eyed Blues (4/5)  
Author: Ganymede  
Feedback to:   
Author's Website:   
Status: Complete  
Category: Unclassified  
Pairing (Primary): Skinner/Krycek  
Pairing(s) (Secondary): Mulder/Krycek  
Crossover Fandom (if any):   
Crossover Info (if any):   
Other Pairing Info:   
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: Assume everything up to Season Eight (I'm living in denial, boys and girls)  
Permission to Archive:   
Series or Sequel/Prequel:   
Notes: Chapter 1- Battered and Bruised, and Chapter 5 -Breaking and Entering have already been posted and archived various places. In my usual style, I wrote the last chapter first, then the first chapter, then the rest about three months later.  
Warnings:   
Disclaimer: Krycek, Skinner, Mulder, and Scully belong to CC and 1013 productions. Jarod belongs to TNT. The Dalai Lama belongs to the world.  
Summary: An odd and quirky romance that starts with a car accident and ends with a home invasion.

* * *

Chapter 4 - Wright Patterson Blues 

Wright Patterson Air Force Base  
Outside of Dayton, OH. 

Anytime I'm in the Midwest, I make a detour to come here. I don't know why. Mulder would call it a sentimental attachment to an idea of childhood. Walter..Walter would say it felt like home. 

It was home. My family was here from the time I was nine until I was twelve. Longest time we spent anywhere. When you're in a military family, moves every year are in the job description. Where my father's job took us, wewent. 

But this place.this is where I learned to ride a bicycle. This is where I had my first date, my first kiss. I was happy here. Life was good. 

I come back when I can, to try to get a taste of that happiness again. 

I walked into the bar. I hadn't been back in three years. It hadn't changed. I had. Last time I was here, I had both arms. One of the nice things about hanging around military bases is that no one looks twice at an amputee. It is assumed that you got your X chopped off in service to your country. Almost a badge of honor. When people ask, I tell them I was on a peacekeeping mission. It was, if you look at it in the right light. I was trying to keep the planet out of a war we couldn't win. 

He had already arrived when I got there. Gotta give the man extra points for promptness. I was fifteen minutes early, casing the place out. Old habits die hard, but at least I don't. He hadn't noticed me yet, s= o I indulged in a moment or two of just watching the one person on the planet I could call my friend. 

Jarod. No last name. No family. A past that rivals mine. A future he was carving out of limestone and bedrock with his bare hands. 

We didn't talk about the past much. We both knew enough to understand that we came from a similar place. Survivors. Been to hell and back, and still trying to re-glue the broken pieces. 

I met Jarod shortly after my arm got hacked off. When I got back to the states, I went off the rails. Badly. I was living outside Las Vegas at the time. For a couple of weeks, I did a pretty passable imitation of a paranoid schizophrenic. Being alone, in constant pain, crippled, and on the run from an enormous organization that wants you dead would make most people a little wacky. 

Well, I finally did something stupid enough to attract the attention of the local constabulary. They took one look at me and threw me in the loony bin. Diagnosed as a danger to self and others, I was sentenced to a one month stay at a very nice hotel with padded wallpaper and jackets that let you hug yourself all day long. 

Jarod was the psychiatrist assigned to my case. 

The man is no more a psychiatrist than I am a ballerina. I took one look at him and I could tell that. Wrong vibe. Wrong aura. He had the aura of someone who was running for his life. Like me. 

Note to Mulder - ya want a place where you can espouse your alien invasion theories all you want and no one will look at you cross-eyed? Try the funny farm. I lied to Jarod the same way I lied to everyone else I came in contact with in that place - I told the g_d's honest truth. I told them about the Oiliens. I told them about the bees. I told them about the shapeshifters. They nodded, smiled, and wrote copious notes in my file. 

Jarod listened to me. 

Jarod actually picked up on the scraps of truth I was throwing out and ran with them. 

A couple of nights a week, he would come back to the hospital after lights-out, and take me out into the garden. We would sit and talk until the sun came up. The man had insomnia worse than Mulder. I told him about my life, about my sister, about Mulder, about losing my arm..about everything. 

He told me about being stolen from his family, about being used as a walking computer simulation by an organization that makes the Consortium look like a Quaker Meeting, about spending his life trying to undo the wrongs he had done, about the quest to find his family. 

We talked a lot about redemption. 

We talked a lot about everything. 

I needed him - to hear me, to believe me, to help me grieve for my loss. He needed me to listen to his story, to accept him as a fellow traveler, a fellow survivor. 

When I left the hospital, he gave me his cell phone number. I gave him my sister's number. He's the only person in the world who knew how to contact me, aside from blood. I was the only living soul who kn= ew how to get a hold of him. I was pretty f*cking honored. 

Jarod is my friend. He is the only friend I will ever have. 

I spent a minute or two just looking at him. He's very good looking - tall, dark, dangerous looking. In reality, he's about as dangerous as a flyswatter. Should be a Buddhist, that man. Straight as the day is long. Not even a twinge. Damn shame. Maybe it's not. This is one of the _only_ good things in my life right now. I'm not sure I want to screw it up by screwing. 

He noticed my gaze, and looked up at me. Smiling. 

Did I say good looking? I lied. He's effing gorgeous. And completely and utterly uninterested in yours truly. 

Sigh. 

Nothing can ever be easy in my life. I walked over to the table he was sitting at, carrying my beer with me. Plopped myself down in the chair next to him. 

Leaning over conspiratorially. "So, who's the mark, Mark? What's the scam, Sam?" 

He laughed, shook his head. "No scams, no marks. Just visiting with a friend. The last time I spoke to him, he sounded like he needed someone to talk to. So, here I am." 

Do I need someone to talk to? 

Probably. That or a crossbow through the skull. 

I sighed. "My life is way too complicated." 

"Always has been, Alex. That's part of your charm. Which part of your complicated life has you in a tizzy?" 

Another sigh. Oh, hell. Just tell him. 

"I met someone." 

Big grin. Surprised grin. With an eyebrow waggle for effect. "You met someone?" 

"What - is there an echo in here? Isn't that what I just said? Yes. I. Met. Someone." 

He ignored me. "What's her name?" 

"His name is Walt." 

That little bombshell phased him for about a second and a half. Then he charged right along. Jarod the Bulldozer. Wasn't he a character in a children's TV show? "How long have you two been together?" 

I shrugged. "I don't know if we're together or not. I see him sometimes when I'm in D.C., we f*ck, I can't get him out of my head. Togetherness that does not make." 

He was still grinning like a banshee. "How did you two get together?" 

I looked away, anywhere but at his ridiculously happy face. "It's a long and convoluted story." 

Jarod leaned over, put both elbows on the table, rested his chin on his hands. "So? Un-convolute it for me, Alex." 

Blowing my bangs off my forehead. "We were on the opposite ends of a war. He did some nasty things to me, I did some nasty things to him. I always knew he was closer to the side of the angels than I was. When things went to hell with the Consortium, I grabbed my information stash and ran, planning to pass it to him. Well, on my way to performing this good deed, I stopped to French-kiss an Olds Delta 88 going 60+ miles per hour." 

Jarod winced. "Ouch. How many teeth did you lose?" 

"No teeth, but managed to break my one remaining wrist, my skull, six ribs and my jaw. Oh, I also got a free tracheotomy for participating in the studio audience." 

"And this is how you met the man of your dreams?" 

"In a roundabout, convoluted way, yes." 

"I can see that I'm going to need a program to tell the players apart here. Start from the beginning. I'll tell you when to stop." 

So, I did. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

"Hold on a minute, Alex." Traffic-Stop sign with his hand. "You were an invalid, under Walter and Fox's care, and you were having sex with both of them? Starting _four days_ after you got out of the hospital?" 

I mentally ran some more figures, tried to remember the number of sunrises. "Ya, I think so. Four, maybe five. I was doped to the gills that first week." 

Jarod looked at me. Hard. His words were low and quiet, and shot through with steel. "Alex, one of these days, we need to talk about consentuality and appropriate sexual behavior. Not tonight. But we w= ill have this talk." Disbelief and disappointment in his tone. Jarod, you ne= ed to have kids, bad. You have the disapproving paternal tone down to a scie= nce. 

What the f*ck? "It was consentual! Neither of them forced me to do anything!" 

Jarod's tone got even colder. "Fox is a psychologist. Walter has his law degree. In both of these professions, there are very strict rules against having sex with clients or patients. There is a reason for that. We are not going to have this conversation tonight. Later. We. Will. Talk. About. This." 

I raised my hand, mock-surrender. There was no point in saying anything when he got like this. Jarod, the Protector of Innocence, Defender of the Weak and Abused. One of these days, I would have to convince him that I was neither weak nor abused. Innocent? Don't make me laugh. 

He cocked his head at me. "Don't look at me like that. Just keep going with your story." 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

"Let me see if I got this right. Whenever you're within a hundred miles or so of D.C, you swing by and break into his apartment. He catches you and tries to beat the crap out of you. You two f*ck, then you sneak out and disappear the first time he turns his back or falls asleep. Do I have the general gist of it?" 

Jarod didn't like what I was doing. Not one bit. And he was making it abundantly clear, not just to me, but to everyone else in the room. 

I nodded, gave him my best sincere smile. Sincerity is so important in interpersonal relations. Fake that, and you got it made. 

"So, tell me, Alex - is it the sex that draws you back over and over again? Or is it the beatings he administers every time you show up? Did you suddenly decide you got off on pain?" 

For just a second, I considered grabbing his tie and bouncing his head off the scarred wooden table. I let that thought flash in my eyes when I looked up from my beer mug at him. He saw it. I could tell by the way he broke my gaze and glanced around the room. 

"No." Voice barely a growl. "I am _not_ into that sh*t. Let me introduce you to a reality that differs from those magazines you keep under your bed - pain is not erotic. Pain just hurts." I waved my mangled left arm around for emphasis. 

"Then why? Why do you keep coming back to a man who, by your own admission, tries to hurt you and acts like he doesn't even want you around? Why do that to yourself?" Worry written all over his handsome face. The man was honest-to-G_d concerned about my emotional well-being. When was the last time that someone, besides my sister and my parents, actually gave a damn if I were dead or alive, much less happy? 

I looked up at the ceiling, maybe for divine guidance, I'm not sure. 

"Jarod, I'm not sure if I understand it myself, much less can explain it to you." 

"Try." Pleading. "I'm an awfully intuitive guy. Maybe I can help you understand it." 

Deep sigh. Jarod, the things I do for you. 

"He's." This is pathetic. I've done nothing the past year but think about this man, and I still can't put my finger on why he has this effect on me. 

Another deep breath. Another try. 

"He's not afraid of me. I can't run any of my usual numbers on him. He's this huge mountain range of a man, so physical intimidation doesn't work. When I try to bullsh*t my way through, he looks at me like he can see right through me. Like he knows exactly what I'm doing, and he's not fooled by it for an instant. And he calls me on it. Every single time. Do you have any idea how infuriating that is? 

He's bigger than I am. He's stronger than I am - and I've tested this fact many times. Got the bruises to prove it, too. He's one of the smartest men I've ever met. He's not one of those book geniuses, like Mulder, all brains and no smarts. He puts two and two together fast. Scary fast. And once he has four, he knows what to do about it. 

I don't know what I feel for him. Obsession, maybe. When he's around, I can't stop watching him. Even if I'm not trying to, some part of my brain is tracking every move he makes. When he's not around, I'm looking for him. Seeing him in strangers. 

Whatever it might be that I feel for him, I know for a fact he doesn't feel the same way about me. Oh, he feels something. He gets a hard-on every time he realizes I'm in the room. But he doesn't like me. He probably thinks I'm a sociopath with the ethics of a rat and the survival instinct of a cockroach. And I'm sure as hell he doesn't like the fact that he's as obsessed about me as I am about him." 

Jarod's concerned expression, the one I thought was a permanent fixture on his face when I was around, melted into a grin. A happy grin. I was scared. 

"Are you sure about that?" 

"Sure that he isn't secretly in love with yours truly? I consulted my magic eight ball. It said don't count on it. You've got to understand, Jarod - this guy is as clean as the driven snow. He's a f*cking Eagle Scout. He's the epitome of all that good sh*t the Boy Scouts have been peddling for years: honest, clean, reverent, yadda yadda yadda. I've been dirty since I was seventeen years old. People like me don't end up behind a white picket fence with people like him." 

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that a good guy could be in love with a bad boy? Or is it impossible for you to believe that there is anything left that's redeemable?" 

" _I_ *Don't* _Know_ , all right?!" Slamming my fist into the table for emphasis, making the beer mugs jump and spill. Quieter, trying not to attract the attention of the barkeep and the scattering of men in fatigues. "I don't know how I feel about him, but whatever it is, it's got me by the throat and it isn't letting go. If this= keeps up much longer, I might need your professional services." 

Big, sh*t eating grin plastered across his handsome face. 

Don't give me that look, Jarod. It makes the bottom of my feet melt. How dare you be that f*cking handsome, and straight, too? 

"You want my expert opinion, Alex? You're a goner. He's the first guy you couldn't lie to, bamboozle, or run circles around. He's strong enough to put up with your baggage, and tough enough to= make you deal with it too. Oh, he has feelings for you. You can bet the far= m on that. That's why he keeps taking you back every time you disappear in t= he middle of the night. And that scares the crap out of you, doesn't it?" Lo= oking up at me, still grinning. "Don't bother denying it. I know you better than that. He wants you, and you want him. So, what's stopping you?" 

I tried for my best innocent look, and failed miserably. "Oh, I don't know. Could be that he's FBI and I'm a double-crossing murdering trai= tor." 

Could be that Jarod has finally gone off the deep end and is channeling Cupid. If he shoots an arrow into my ass, I'll break all his fingers. 

"He doesn't believe that. If he did, you never would have made it in his front door." He stood up and gestured towards the Exit sign. "Go. Go be with him. It's what you want. It's what he wants. Do it." He looked positively wistful. "Go be with the man you love, OK? And tell him that if he hurts you, I'll kick his ass." 

The image of Jarod, the most gentle human being I had ever met, pulling a Jackie Chan made me laugh. I was still laughing as I stood up and pulled Jarod into an uneven one-armed hug. "I will do that. Take care of yourself, OK? If you need me, you know my number." 

Life was OK. I had Walter. I had Jarod. What else does a guy need? 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Ganymede 


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